cold minutes passed as Cody waited. He shivered and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He glanced up. Even the moon had abandoned him, hidden behind a cloud. Cody was as alone as he had ever been.
Alone in the dark of the woods.
Finally he couldn’t take the wait or the loneliness.
“Brendan!” he called, his voice louder than he expected and ending on a strange high pitch. What a surprise. Cody hadn’t known he could howl like a wolf at night.
Cody Wolf, get it?
Cody didn’t. Not yet.
When his brother didn’t respond, Cody sucked in another breath to call again. He opened his mouth and—
“You don’t need to yell,” his brother said behind him.
Cody turned sharply, his mouth ready with sharper words. How dare Brendan vanish and then sneak up on him. It was Cody’s birthday. His special day! Everything was supposed to go right. Everything was supposed to be fun.
What he saw killed the words on his lips.
Brendan wasn’t Brendan. Not anymore.
A dog-like creature stood in front of Cody on two legs. Shaggy brown fur covered its body. Fangs as thick as fingers jutted from its canine face.
“Happy birthday, bro,” it growled in a familiar voice.
Cody staggered in jaw-dropping shock. The voice was rough but unmistakable. It belonged to his brother.
His brother the monster.
His brother the werewolf.
Cody was too scared to scream. He shoved the Brendan-wolf in the chest and ran. Home was through the woods and past Glengary Elementary. Less than half a mile, but light years away when a werewolf was chasing you.
“What’s the matter, bro?” Brendan barked behind him, a kind of laugh. “You always wanted a surprise party for your birthday. Well … surprise!”
Cody ran harder.
He broke from the trees minutes later, heart pounding in his throat. He was covered in burrs and scratches. Welts reddened his skin. But Cody didn’t notice. He felt nothing. He was numb to everything except one fact.
His brother was a werewolf.
A glance over his shoulder told him that Brendan was close, maybe a hundred yards behind. He ran on four legs like an animal. His long pink tongue dangled from the side of his open mouth.
“This can’t be happening,” Cody panted in disbelief. Wait until their parents found out!
As he passed the school, he sprinted harder. He was on the home stretch now. He could see his long ranch-style house ahead. Cars filled the driveway. Lights shone in every window, revealing the people within. He spotted Uncle Rusty, cousins Jason and Heidi, Grandma Robinson. All of them were waiting to wish him a happy birthday.
A happy hairy birthday.
Cody reached the front door and clawed at the handle. His lungs burned, yet he found the breath to scream.
“Mom! Dad!” he gasped as he burst into the house. “Brendan is a—!”
“Happy birthday!”
The people inside cheered as one, devouring his words. Like an organized pack, they pressed forward and surrounded Cody. Some of his relatives reached out to shake his hand or ruffle his hair. He received several hugs. Aunt Pam snuck in a kiss.
The crowd overwhelmed him, and his head spun. He couldn’t catch a breath. It was too much, too close.
“Wait! Stop!” he begged. “Give me a second. I have something to say!”
He pushed through the crowd and turned to face it. The confused yellow eyes of his family stared back. They looked disappointed. Some of their ears even seemed to droop like those of scolded dogs.
Cody shook his head angrily. No, no, no. Yellow eyes and drooping ears? Impossible!
Except for Brendan’s, that is. Cody had seen his brother’s yellow wolf-like eyes and tall pointed ears.
“Listen, everyone,” he said rapidly. “We’ve got a problem. A big problem. You probably won’t believe me, but it’s true. So I’m just going to say it.” He swallowed hard, still trying to believe it himself.
“Brendan is a werewolf.”
He expected rolling eyes and laughter. No one would believe him! But he got nothing, no response. The crowd didn’t flinch. It went quiet, dead silent. Two dozen yellow eyes watched him intensely like the full moon.
“Didn’t you hear me?” he snapped. “I said Brendan is a werewolf!”
Still more silence. Then—
“Did someone say ‘werewolf?’”
Cody spun on his toes, feeling hopeful. The voice belonged to Grandpa Wolf, his favorite relative.
Until now.
Cody’s hopes evaporated. Grandpa Wolf wasn’t himself. He wasn’t the man Cody knew. Grandpa Wolf’s voice came from a werewolf standing on two legs and covered in silver fur. He clutched a polished pewter tray in his padded front paws. On the tray sizzled a steaming t-bone steak, medium rare.
Complete with thirteen lit candles like a birthday cake.
“Happy birthday, Cody,” Grandpa Wolf growled. “Is everyone ready to sing?”
“Nooooo!” Cody howled in his best Luke Skywalker impression.
But as the crowd started to sing, it started for Cody. The change. His transformation from boy to wolf. First his fingers and toes stretched and thickened. Then his hands and feet sprouted hair. The muscles on his arms and legs bulged with the strength of a beast.
“What’s happening to me?” he cried.
But he knew. He knew. Cody was becoming a werewolf. Just like his brother, just like his grandfather. He was a werewolf like everyone else in his family.
It happened to them all for the first time on their thirteenth birthday. That’s why he had missed his brother’s thirteenth birthday party. To protect the family secret until Cody was ready.
When the change was complete, Cody dropped to all fours. Energy pulsed through his new canine body and there was something he needed to do outside.
Quickly he bounded through the door and lifted his shaggy head. Then he howled at the full moon as if he owned the night.
Happy birthday, Cody Wolf.
Happy hairy birthday.
The End
This story and twelve others appear in the book Mystery Underground: Michigan Monsters. Look for it on MysteryUnderground.com.
Deep Green Sea
Pensacola, FL
September 9, 3:45 pm
Emma Garland stared at the Gulf of Mexico from the backseat of her family’s minivan. The Gulf’s normally brilliant green waters were dreary and black.
“What’s up with the water?” she asked her parents in the front of the van.
“It sure is gloomy,” Mrs. Garland agreed.
Mr. Garland chuckled in the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry, ladies. The hurricane just stirred up the Gulf a little. It’ll settle back down in a day or so.”
“I hope you’re right,” Emma said. “It looks nasty.”
This region of Florida was called the Emerald Coast. The water along its sandy white beaches was usually bright and tinted green. The nickname had been given to the area in 1983 by a junior high school student. A contest had been held to invent a slogan for the area to attract more tourists.
“Da-da-da-da!” Emma’s baby sister Dora cooed in the car seat next to her. The eleven-month-old couldn’t talk yet, but that didn’t stop her from trying. Or from making a lot of noise.
“That’s right, honey,” Mr. Garland said in his best baby voice. “Daddy will keep you safe from the hurricane monster.”
Dora squealed, grinning from ear to ear.
“How much farther?” Emma asked.
“About fifteen minutes,” Mrs. Garland replied patiently. She had already answered the same question half a dozen times during the five-hour drive.
“Good!” Emma said with relief. “I can’t wait to get out and stretch. I think every part of me is asleep.”
“Let’s just hope that Hurricane Hillary didn’t blow away our house,” Mr. Garland joked. “She was a big bad wolf filled with hot air.”
“That’s not funny,” Mrs. Garland frowned.
Mr. Garland turned in his seat to wink at Emma. To his wife, he said, “Alright, alright. I’m sure the house is okay. The hurricane was barely a category two. Mean old Hillary tried to take over the world, but she wasn’t strong enough.”
“Well, she was strong enough to force us to leave town for a couple days,” Mrs. Garland corrected.
“Yes, dear, she sure was,” he agreed. “Hillary chased us all the way to Grouchy Glenda’s house.”
“Hey!” Emma piped up. “Grandma Glenda isn’t grouchy!”
Mr. Garland laughed. “That’s quite a tongue twister.”
“At least we were safe and sound,” Mrs. Garland said.
Three days ago the Garlands had fled their home. Hurricane Hillary had been raging toward the northwestern panhandle of Florida where they lived. The family had taken refuge at Emma’s grandmother’s house in Crawfordville. Now that the weather had cleared, they were headed home.
“I’m just glad we had somewhere to go,” Emma said. “But I’ll be even gladder to get home.”
“Florida can have fierce weather,” Mrs. Garland said. “It has more storms than any other state.” She meant especially during hurricane season, which lasted from June through November.
“That’s true,” Mr. Garland cut in. “But I’ll take a tropical storm over a blizzard any day. I don’t know how people survive in the snow. Maybe they’re part polar bear.”
Honnnnkkkk!
Blaring its horn, a big SUV whipped past going the other way. Its headlights flashed crazily. The vehicle’s front bumper and hood were drenched with a dripping, shiny green substance as if they had been peppered by paintball guns.
Mr. Garland slowed, swerving to avoid the careening SUV. “Whoa! What’s that guy’s problem?”
“Maybe he’s trying to tell us something,” Mrs.